


crash into my arms

by voodoochild



Category: Wire in the Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark Character, Dom/sub, F/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2011-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol calls, Tony comes. Not everything changes. (Takes place in a universe where Tony's a serial killer and Carol knows.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	crash into my arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **thatyourefuse** for the song prompt of Morrissey's "Jack the Ripper".

_Oh, you look so tired, but tonight you presumed too much  
And if it's the last thing I ever do, I'm gonna get you  
So crash into my arms, cause I want you_

It started with the pictures.

Any time they appeared in the paper together ( _"DCI Carol Jordan of Bradfield CID and psychologist and profiler Dr. Tony Hill"_ ), he clipped it out and saved it. Just for the memento, the reminder of a successful or disappointing case. Sometimes they went into his case files, purely for reference purposes, but over the months, he begun saving them in a separate folder. They begun having less to do with cases and more to do with the hazel of Carol's eyes or if she was wearing the red blouse (she looks best in red, he's decided).

But it soon escalated; soon he was calling her more often at home and staying late at CID with her. The psychologist in him recognizes the triggers - Lawrence, MacAdam, the death of his student and the discovery Carol was intending to have a termination - as a reaction to a further loss of affect. The man in him can only wonder; what if there had been a child? Could it ever have been his?

The killer in him, though, has to kill again. MacAdam wasn't enough, he needs his usual type - blonde, petite, mid-thirties, clear visual resemblance to his Carol. Displacement, of course, because the idea of actually hurting Carol turns his stomach. He does all the preparation, and he's almost about to strike when chance strikes, and his mobile rings.

It's Carol, and he's supposed to be picking up curry and meeting her at her flat.

He gets there in twenty minutes, even remembers their usual orders (his chicken Pathia, her prawn Jalfrezi and an extra order of naan). She's changed into a soft red jumper and jeans, feet curling bare onto the floor, and she teases him for almost forgetting dinner. It's a front, though - she'd really been worried about him.

"Tony, where have you been? It's been hours since you left."

An abandoned shack in the woods. A girl drugged and tied to a chair, her hazel eyes blinking slowly in the bright light. Sharp knives, the best he could buy.

"I, uh. Lost track of time. Grading. You know how it goes."

If Lawrence and the warehouse hadn't been so fresh in her mind, she might have questioned him. As it is, she's still angry about his risking himself to try and save Lawrence.

"Don't lie to me, Tony," she says.

God, her topvoice could cut ice, beautiful and sleek and plucking that string in him that makes him want to fall to his knees. Doesn't, because she's very strict about that sort of thing; only when and where she says.

"Where were you?"

He bows his head, unable to look at her, as ever.

"I had one."

"One of the ones who look like me, or one of the ones you like to hunt?"

"She had blonde hair and hazel eyes. Not an innocent - I never hurt the innocent, you know that - but not as bad as some I've had before. And I was going to - I had the knives and the setup - but you called."

He can't see her, but he knows her expression well. A slow, owlish blink. Narrowed eyes. Pursed lips. She hates it when he takes the women, would prefer he confine his activities to the ones she can't hunt.

"And you came."

"I came."

"Did you let her go?"

"She had enough tranquilizers in her system to knock her out for the rest of the night. I left her on her couch. The back door was unlocked."

A hand on the back of his neck, digging into his hair and pressing down. Firm, unyielding. Like drowning. The heat of her at his back, soft curves molded to his form. Her mouth along the edge of his ear, inflammatory.

"That's good, Tony," she says, and kisses down the line of his jaw. He turns around, with her encouragement, and sinks to his knees before her. "I'm very pleased you didn't hurt her. And I'm pleased you came to me instead of going through with it."

Nose against the softness of her jumper, her belly beneath, he inhales deeply.

"I'm going to need to do it soon, Carol. I can't - I need it."

She knows what the admission has cost him, and she strokes his hair.

"I know. We'll deal with it. I'll find you one you can hunt before you kill."

Hearing those words from her lips is almost enough to make him come. But that is later, because Carol always, always takes care of him.


End file.
